Thistle and Weeds
by heavenseed
Summary: Daryl saves Carol from a group of would-be rapists and realizes how much she means to him. Two damaged souls seek to heal one another. (TRIGGER WARNING: Rape mentioned)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: WARNING: Mentions rape. Graphic sex in later chapters.**

* * *

When Carol was shoved toward him, Daryl didn't flinch. He pulled her against himself, pressing her nakedness against his chest. He could smell the fear coming off her as she trembled. Hands covering herself, she fit her shoulder beneath his and looked up into his eyes. He looked down at her, gun still pointed at the other man's head. Tears had tracked down Carol's face, and fresh ones were now following – tears of relief. He wiped a salty globe from her face with his thumb and kissed her forehead without thinking twice about it, before turning her away from his target. Safely tucked behind him, Daryl turned to face the group of men, who were now staring down the barrel of his pistol. Beside him, Rick held his own revolver steady. Carol slipped behind Rick and Daryl into Andrea's arms.

"Steady now…" The apparent leader of the group put up his hands in a gesture of defeat. "I didn't know she was spoken for." He grinned, either oblivious or indifferent to the waves of rage causing the veins in Daryl's neck to throb.

"We'd be happy to trade for 'er, right Gil?" One of the larger men spoke up.

"Trade? What the fuck do you mean, 'trade'?" Daryl spat, disgust evident in is words.

"Our women are not for sale." Rick was calm, his voice even and his words without equivocation.

"Women? Plural? You got more pussy stashed away in that jail?" Gil's rotten teeth spread his grin wide.

If the plan to save Carol wasn't about to work in a spectacular fashion, Rick Grimes would have never taken his eyes off the men in front of him. As he saw the glint of Michonne's sword above their heads, he glanced at Daryl.

Several things happened at once: Michonne let her blade swing, taking the heads clean off two of the men in the department store. T-Dog reached up and grabbed another man's throat, using Daryl's hunting knife to slit his throat. Daryl and Rick each dispensed with the last two with a hatchet and bowie knife, respectively. None of the other men had time to react.

The group nodded to one another, acknowledging that they had done what needed to be done. Killing five breathing men wasn't something they had considered doing when they set out for supplies the day before, but it had been necessary. None of them regretted it.

Daryl kicked Gil's corpse once in the head, before turning and heading for the door. Michonne, Rick and T-Dog watched him go, then turned to one another. T-Dog raised an eyebrow, to which Rick paid a lopsided grin. Michonne remained stoic as ever.

Rick directed, "Let's see what we can salvage and get back. Everyone will be worried. We're losing light."

* * *

Their vehicle was the only one in the parking lot of the dirt mall they tracked Carol to that day. Carol sat in the driver's seat with the door open, feet on the asphalt. Blood matted her hair behind one ear and had soaked the collar of the new shirt she wore. The expensive camp shirt hung off her thin shoulders, as she stared out at the deserted lot. Andrea knelt in front of her, trying and failing to offer words of comfort. Carol shut her out. While the horror of her ordeal replayed in her mind, she clung to the memory of Daryl, stepping up to claim her.

When the group had discovered the other survivors inside the department store, it had been because of Carol's screams, and the laughter of men heard throughout the shop. As a team, they had grown so good at clearing walkers that the other group never heard them enter. Five men: two holding her down, one watching with apparent amusement as another tried to gag her to keep her from bringing a herd into the store, and one other *touching* her. Rotten teeth grinned down at her, dirty, bloody hands groped at her naked chest.

Daryl had heard her cry out and came running, already knowing he was not dealing with the walking dead. He doubled back to the others, who were cautiously and quickly making their way toward Carol. Their hastily devised plan was based on what they all knew of men who would hold down and tear the shirt off a woman they had kidnapped from the woods outside the prison. It had been the group's intention that Rick would claim Carol as his. But as T-Dog and Michonne slipped around to the other side of the store, Daryl drew his gun and stepped out of the shadows before Rick could react.

"Get the fuck off my wife!" His knuckles were white, his body buzzed with anger. Rick's only reaction had been to catch the same words in his own throat. Andrea's jaw dropped momentarily, but her attention turned to Carol, gagged, half naked and trembling on the floor.

Carol tried to wash the taste of vomit from her throat. _At least I can't taste him_, she thought bitterly. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she considered all she had endured with Ed, only to be attacked by a group of strangers during the apocalypse. She swished warm water from Andrea's canteen around in her mouth again as her friend rose. Andrea moved to meet Daryl as he came out of the department store.

"She's pretty shaken up –" Andrea started, but Daryl ignored her and brushed her aside. Andrea threw her hands up.

Battered work boots filled Carol's field of vision, and Daryl's lean body followed, blocking the setting sun as he kneeled in front of her.

"You ok?" He reached to the wound on her head, but Carol caught his hand. He startled a little, stopped only by her wry grin.

"I'm ok, Daryl." She could smell him, the scent of adrenaline, the rusty tang of blood and something else she couldn't place. She tried to get him to meet her eyes, to reassure him, even as she tried to shake off her own shock.

Daryl took her hand in both of his and let out a relieved sigh. His shoulders visibly dropped. He looked up at her, and Carol understood the scent she couldn't place. Tears. Salty tears filled Daryl's eyes, and it was evident a few had fallen as he had come to find her outside. He had tried to wipe them away with the back of his hand, but the telltale streak of grime was there.

Carol's breath caught and Daryl's tears spilled over. He brought their hands to his lips and let the tears fall. He let out one choked sob as he leaned over and pressed his forehead to the thigh of Carol's jeans. Her lips trembled, confusion and relief and sorrow overwhelming her. She wrapped her arms around Daryl as best she could. It was only a moment. Less than a minute they sat like that, Andrea watching on a few feet away.

"Need help?" Andrea went to take a bag from T-Dog as he and Michonne came out of the store, loaded with supplies.

Daryl pulled away from Carol. She looked into his eyes and he met her gaze without wavering. "I thought I lost you again."

* * *

"Shit, Andrea, I ain't like that!" Daryl was seething again. Michonne watched the argument up close, ready to act if either stepped out of line.

"She was just raped, Daryl. She's in shock, she's hurt…"

"I know that! I'm not gonna try to get in her pants or some shit. I just want her with me so I can – "

"What, the rest of us can't keep her safe?" Andrea cut in. "Big bad, Daryl needs to keep all the walkers away – "

"Where the hell were you yesterday when they grabbed her?"

"Where the hell were YOU, Daryl?"

T-Dog chimed in, "Will you both shut up? Every walker in 100 miles is gonna hear you!"

"HEY NOW!" Rick stepped between the two, who were nose to nose. "Carol is safe. This is nobody's fault, ok? Let's all just take a deep breath."

"Tell Miss Women's Lib here I ain't a rapist!" Daryl spat. He backed down though and sat down next to the warm embers of their quickly-made camp.

"He's pushing her, Rick!" Andrea put her hand on her hip, exasperated.

"Will you all just stop it?" Carol hopped out of the SUV, a heavy blanket pulled around her shoulders.

The other four turned to look at her as if remembering she was with them.

"I wasn't raped." Carol sat down heavily on a fallen log.

"Thank God." T-Dog sighed and turned back to watch duty.

Andrea tried to put a comforting hand on Carol's shoulder, but was shaken off. Daryl and Rick listened without comment.

"They took me and we got overrun by a small herd. 20 or 30 walkers. My hands were tied, but I got away and ran. I ran all night. I found that store, but they followed me. I figured it was empty – no cars, no people to turn, right?"

The sounds of the night enveloped their little family, and they all fell into silent reflection. The rest were safely behind the fences of the prison and all of them out on their run were accounted for, essentially unhurt. The cut on Carol's scalp would heal.

Carol's emotions ran wild as they sat there. Once again, the others had to save her ass. Once again she had dragged them all into danger. But hadn't she proven she could take care of herself? At least to some extent? She had found shelter. She had survived a herd of walkers with her hands bound. She had held off her attackers until help could come. And in the end, they had found much more gear and food than they could have even hoped for. The five men who had taken her had an RV full of MREs, canned goods, bottled water and other supplies. The department store was completely intact. Carol had found the delivery bay doors of the mall secured, but unlocked. Before leaving, they filled their SUV and the RV with supplies, clothing, blankets, pillows and even books. If she had never been taken, would they have found this place?

And what about Daryl? It was clear the entire ordeal had shaken him. If Andrea or Maggie had been taken, would he have reacted the same? Would he have stepped up to claim Beth as his wife? It was no secret that Carol and Daryl cared for each other. Carol's eyes always sought him out when they got together in a group. He always left a seat next to him for her at dinner. When walkers came, snarling and moaning, they sought protection in each other. For every plate of food Carol brought him, Daryl would scrape several bites back onto her plate. For every deer Daryl brought back from a hunt, she would set aside a few strips of venison to be dried on the roof of the guard tower and slipped into his pack for the next hunt. It was this meat that she spent her meager supply of spices on – a TicTac box of jerk rub she had found scavenging a car.

More than wanting the argument to stop, Carol wanted Daryl to know she hadn't been violated. While he had stopped flinching when she touched him, and had been more generous with his smiles, Daryl was still a damaged soul. Carol had resigned herself to living this life as Daryl's best friend, nothing more. The thought of ever being desired, the dreams of being wanted, had died long ago, and had been burned with Ed. A life without sexuality sans double-A batteries left her a shell. Sex and closeness and desire were foreign concepts, not just ones she had resigned herself to never having.

Daryl, on the other hand, knew what he wanted. He had proven his worth to his new family. His brother, who had taught him that he wasn't worth loving, had sacrificed himself so that Daryl would live. He was no longer just Merle's baby brother, but Rick's right hand. He was T-Dog's friend. He was Carl's confidante. At the end of all things, Daryl Dixon was somebody.

He watched Carol through the dying embers of their fire, feeling the heat seep from the Earth as the moon rose higher in the sky. While her shoulders remained thin, he could no longer see her cheekbones and her jeans sat on her hips like they were meant to. Bringing in food for their little band of survivors, seeing Judith thrive and knowing he had something to do with it made him stand a little taller. Before the end of the world, Daryl had worked too hard to survive to let down his guard. The irony of this fact was not lost on him. It took the fall of civilization to give him the chance to consider his need for other people. Even when the song of his arrow was in the air and the hum of the forest surrounded him, he was beginning to long for the place he considered his home. He found clarity in the forest – hunting made sense. Concrete evidence of an animal pushing against his senses were tangible things he could trust. If he trusted the signs, he would succeed. Emotions like love and desire were intangible. They didn't put dinner on the table. Oh, but he craved it. The spark in his belly when he felt the warmth of Carol's leg against his as they ate dinner in Cell Block C, her firm but gentle touch when she patched up another of his wounds, and her easy smile left an ache in his chest every time he walked beyond the safety of the prison fence. The thought of leaving her without his protection, of never feeling her behind him on Merle's bike again… He shivered in the hot Georgia night at the thought.

As he walked out of the department store that day, he had stopped right before the door. He shook with rage and relief, and bristled with the need to have her near him. An empty parking lot stood between him and the only person willing to tell him, plainly, that she cared.

He had only offered to stay in the SUV with Carol, that caused Andrea to go into full-on She-Ra mode. And while he was still haunted by a lifetime of abuse, he didn't want someone else giving voice to his fear that he was doing the wrong thing in that moment. Self doubt would always be carved into the cross he had to bear, but he never wanted Carol to feel abandoned. Not by him. He could see her chastising herself for getting taken, he could see disappointment in her eyes as he watched her across the fire. The best he could do then was stand guard over them all.

Daryl didn't need to tell T-Dog twice to get some rest. He walked the perimeter until the horizon turned pink.

* * *

Michonne was the first to rise. She approached Daryl, making enough noise that she didn't startle him. He knew the footfalls of his family like his own heartbeat now.

"Morning." Daryl greeted Michonne without turning around.

"Don't let Andrea stop you." Michonne stood shoulder to shoulder with Daryl and watched the sun rise. "Carol needs you. You need her."

Daryl chewed his lip for a moment and regarded his boots. He looked up at Michonne with a half grin. Michonne grinned back.

* * *

Rick drove the SUV and T-Dog maneuvered the packed RV with Andrea riding shotgun. As they drove, Carol pulled Daryl's hand into her lap. His questioning look was answered by her warm smile. Miles passed quietly, everyone left to consider the great distance that had brought them here. Eventually, Carol's exhaustion caught up with her and her head began to droop. Daryl reached over and pulled her head down onto his lap, adjusting the blanket tighter around her. He let his arm drape over her and Carol fell asleep holding his hand. Daryl caught Rick's eyes in the rearview mirror just before he turned down the road to the prison. They were smiling.

* * *

**A/N: This is a one-shot unless I get reviews otherwise. Reviews are love.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Yes, Andrea and T-Dog survived. Andrea, so I could kill her again and T-Dog because he's awesome. Trying to work in all the important characters, including the Woodbury clan, but this is essentially a Caryl fic.**

* * *

In the excitement of sheer amount of supplies from their run, it was easy for Carol to slip away to find Herschel. Daryl watched her go, first aid kit under her arm. When he turned back to the group, everyone was grabbing what they could carry from the RV, and a large bag was shoved into his arms.

T-Dog followed Daryl's line of site. "Give her some time man." Daryl just grunted in response and nodded for T-Dog to pile on another bag. "You know, we picked up that generator… A hot shower couldn't hurt." T-Dog piled a third bag into Daryl's arms before grabbing two himself.

* * *

Herschel tied the last stitch with a sigh, snipping off the ends of the suture and slipping off his gloves.

"Thank you, Herschel." Carol gave the man a grateful smile and rose to leave. "We have a lot more where this came from." She began packing away the medical kit.

Herschel stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. "Are you sure you're all right? Nothing happened out there?"

Carol patted Herschel's knee. "Nothing we couldn't handle."

Carol turned to leave Herschel's cell as Maggie entered. She pulled Carol into a tight hug. "Andrea told me." Carol's arms remained at her sides, but she didn't pull away.

"I wish she would mind her own business." Carol didn't try to move away, but she didn't reciprocate. Herschel watched with confusion.

Maggie finally pulled away and took Carol's hand. She wasn't going to let her friend push her away.

"Come on," Maggie took Carol's arm and led her out of Herschel's cell. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Inside Carol's cell, she sat heavily on her cot, watching Maggie rifle through her clothes to find something remotely clean. "People make me sick." Maggie mumbled. She was clearly upset.

"Maggie," Carol began, "Honey, I'm OK, really."

Maggie sat down in front of Carol on the concrete. "How can you say that? They assaulted you!"

"They tried to kiss me. They touched me. It wasn't half as bad as some of the things Ed did to me." Carol's laugh was dry, and didn't touch her eyes.

"So, what? Are you saying you're used to it?" Maggie was completely incredulous.

"No! No, honey, I'm not. But I just need to work through it on my own is all."

Maggie's eyes softened a bit. She set the clothes she was holding on the cot next to Carol. She reached up and hugged her again. This time, Carol hugged her back.

"We love you, you know that, right?"

Before Carol could respond, Daryl blocked the light from the doorway. The women pulled away from each other and Maggie made her way out of the cell. Daryl held out his hand to Carol.

"Come here. I got something to show you."

* * *

She heard the sound of the generator before she heard the water. Carol gasped when Daryl opened the door to the warden's bathroom and steam poured out.

"How?" Droplets of water beaded on her skin, drawing rivulets through the grime.

"Generator was in that RV, water pressure's always been OK, but we haven't had the water heater going. It won't last long, but you should have plenty." Daryl stood at the door, afraid to walk in further.

"Oh no, Daryl, don't waste this on me!"

"If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have it."

"Weren't for me…" Carol hung her head.

Daryl cut off the self-depricating comment. "Go on. Clean clothes, soap and everything."

Carol bit her lip in thought. The steam was growing thick in the small room. She smiled at Daryl and nodded – a hot shower was too inviting.

"I'll stand guard." Daryl closed the door.

Upon the gentle click of the door, Carol toed off her shoes and stepped out of her jeans. She reached into the stream of water and felt the heat seep into her flesh. She gingerly undid the buttons on her shirt and shrugged out of it, wincing. She had kept her aching ribs and the bruises on her abdomen to herself. As she moved to pull off her tank top, she cried out. Tears sprung to her eyes and she choked back a sob.

She stepped into the shower, tank top and panties still on, letting the water drive the chill out of her bones. Without thinking, she stepped fully under the spray, and pain shot down the side of her neck. Dried blood from her scalp mixed with the sweat and dirt, leaving a rusty trail down her body.

"Carol?" Daryl had heard her. "You alright?"

All at once, Carol's shell shattered. She grabbed the tile soap dish and held on as the sobs racked her body. Once they began to escape, she couldn't stop them.

Daryl rushed to Carol, not caring or noticing the hot water soaking his clothes. "Hey, hey, hey!" He took her shoulders and kept her upright. Carol grabbed his shirt in her fists and pressed her face into the wet fabric. Daryl was at a loss. He held Carol there under the spray of hot water until her breath slowed.

"Breathe, just, breathe." He massaged her shoulders as Carol began to catch her breath.

"I'm so sorry." Carol looked up, but couldn't meet his eyes.

"It's OK. Nothin to be sorry for."

"I can't…" Carol gestured to her clothing, which clung to her like wet paper.

With a deep breath, Daryl reached for the hem of her shirt. Carol attempted to raise her arms, but it was too painful. Without a second thought, Daryl ripped the side of the shirt and tore it open at the side seam. He peeled the fabric off her and revealed the angry bruises forming over her ribcage. Carol tried to cover herself, but Daryl kept his eyes on her face. Without a word, he poured soap into his hand and began massaging it into her shoulders and back. Carol clung to the front of his shirt as he lathered the soap along her shoulder blades. His calloused hands moved down her arms, to her thin fingers. He pried them away from his shirt and moved her away from him slightly. Eyes closed, Carol let him wash her. Firm hands smoothed bubbles over her clavicle and up behind her ears. She leaned in to his hands as he brought the soap into the back of her hair. As gently as possible he washed her hair, careful to stay clear of her wound. He let the suds move down her breasts like receding glaciers. Kneeling in front of her, he worked the soap over her legs, letting her grip his shoulders for support. Working from ankle to thigh, he stopped when he met the sheer fabric of her panties. He hesitated then, watching the dull grey foam gather in her navel. He caught himself staring at the soft expanse of skin that should have been pink and smooth, now a sickening range of purples. Reaching behind him as he stood, he took a wash cloth and soaped it up, gathering himself.

In his head, Daryl was seething. That a man could force someone to… And the fact that Ed had probably done the same or worse… And still, she was so, so beautiful. He had never been so physically close to a woman before. He was in awe of this person, that she could endure so much, and still trust him so completely. Privacy had been lost when the world went to hell, but this wasn't a hasty change out of bloody clothes. Five men had touched her, hurt her, nearly got her killed, and yet she let him see her nude.

With the washcloth, he gently washed her face, clearing small circles of dirt from her hairline, around her eyes and across both cheeks. She sighed as he made a second pass, removing the soap from her skin as he held her head back from the spray of water. He dropped the cloth onto the floor of the shower and cupped her cheek.

Carol's eyes were closed and her face peaceful. Daryl could have kissed her in that moment, their breath mingling in the small space. He could close the distance and press his lips to hers. He could pour all the pent-up desire and rage and hurt out and let it swirl down that drain. But the evidence of her fragility, of her vulnerability, was raising up around her collarbone as finger shaped welts, made more prominent by the heat.

His hesitation made Carol open her eyes. He was studying her, following the blue lines of her veins under the fine skin around her eyes and watching the water make patterns in the curls along her temple. It took a long moment for Daryl to realize she was smiling at him.

"Thank you." Carol whispered.

* * *

Beth had Judith strapped to her front in a sling Carol had made from several uncut yards of fabric. She was swaying slightly, trying to keep the baby from startling, but the argument in front of her wasn't helping. Not only did she not want the baby to fuss, but the subject of conversation was sleeping at the other end of the cell block.

"I can handle dinner!" Beth raised her voice.

"You shouldn't have to do this, Beth. We all need to start doing more around here. I think, " Rick agreed that perhaps someone other than Carol or Beth could handle kitchen duties. Andrea, however, was having none of it.

"Doing more? What's more important than keeping us all safe, Rick?"

"Being up in that tower all day doesn't put food on the table." Michonne's voice was quiet, but effective.

"That's right, there's more to surviving than not getting killed." Rick agreed.

"That's all we have now, isn't it?" Andrea pushed.

"We're as safe as we're gonna get here." T-Dog offered.

"I'd like to see us taking care of each other. One of us is down, the rest need to take up the slack." Rick reasoned.

"I don't see what the problem is, I can cook, we can all do laundry." Beth swayed a little wider as Judith fussed more.

"We can take turns with Judith, take turns cooking whatever Daryl brings back." Rick gestured to Daryl, who had been sitting near the door to the cells taking in the argument.

"Hell, I'll cook for ya'll. But I aint washing out Glenn's panties." Daryl smirked at Glenn.

"So now we've got a housekeeping schedule? I don't recall becoming anyone's wife." Daryl's smirk turned into a scowl when Andrea spoke.

"What the hell is your problem? This is not the time to be talking about women's rights and shit. Beth just asked you to help with dinner, for fuck's sake!" Daryl rose and took a step toward Andrea.

"I was on my way to watch duty."

"I offered to go up there for you." T-Dog's voice was measured, but he was clearly angry.

"Why don't you help with dinner, then? I'm going to keep watch." Andrea picked up the rifle on the table beside her and stalked to the stairs leading to the prison yard.

"Bitch." Daryl spat. Rick held up a hand to tell Daryl to stop.

"Fuck you, Daryl." Andrea let the door slam behind her.

She took a deep breath as she stepped out into the stifling Georgia afternoon, but stiffened as she heard the door open behind her.

"You need to lay this shit out on the table, Andrea. Ever since I took out that walker, Milton, you've been - "

"What? What have I been Daryl? Why are you on my case about cooking and doing your fucking laundry?"

"I don't care what you do, but you need to step up and do more than wave that damn rifle around. Might shoot someone."

Andrea snorted at Daryl's half-assed joke. "I've thanked you for that, Daryl. And now what? You want me to cook and clean for you, you want me to be your wife?"

"Hell no –" Daryl's face reddened and his anger only grew. He could see Tyreese and Sasha hurrying toward them from farther out in the yard and Carl was in the tower, looking down on them all. Their yelling had the walkers outside the fence snarling.

"And what do you do all day? Run around playing boy scout." Andrea spat the words at him.

"I just want to you to step up so Carol can rest. I want you to get off your high horse."

"Oh, is that what you call it? Coming on to her in the shower? You need to get your rocks off Daryl?" Andrea, her face pinched with anger, entered Daryl's personal space.

Daryl scoffed at her. He tried to back away, but there was little space between him and the brick wall of the prison. "I don't need anything from you, Andrea!"

"You need this?" Andrea grabbed Daryl's crotch and squeezed. "You wanna fuck Daryl? You leave Carol alone, I'll –"

Daryl smacked Andrea's arm away from him and got in her face. He had never considered hitting a woman until that moment. "I don't want a whore, Andrea! I want HER. I love Carol! I would never… Fuck!" Realizing what he'd said, he pushed his hands into his hair. Andrea stood in front of him, gaping like a goldfish. She shoulder's dropped in defeat.

"Whoa!" Daryl turned to see that Glenn, Maggie, Beth and T-Dog had followed him out into the yard. They had heard every word. "Wow." Glenn could only find a voice for those two words. Daryl bolted, his face flaming.

* * *

**A/N: I may not be very consistent in updating. Work, kids, life... You know how it goes. Reviews are welcomed and appreciated and keep me writing. Also, if anyone wants to make a cover pic for this story, I would be forever grateful. Expect smexy fun times soon.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you all for the awesome reviews -I truly appreciate hearing what you think. And yes, the title of this story relates to a Mumford and Sons song. It will factor into the story later on. And now, onto the next chapter. And really... I am so, so very sorry. I am. Really.**

* * *

Her lips were warm and soft beneath his, vibrating as she whimpered into his mouth. He plucked at her dusky nipples as if they were guitar strings, and he could feel her desire radiating off her body. She was safely tucked beneath him, letting her body writhe against him as he touched her. He would suck her bottom lip into his mouth every time he came up for air, and she would bring her hips tighter against his thigh, trying to press his body closer to hers.

He released her only far enough to look into her eyes, a tiny ring of blue iris surrounding a pool of bright, black, unsatisfied, desire. He could not find the words to tell her how beautiful she was in that moment: cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat condensing on her collarbone, her lips swollen.

He pressed a kiss to her naked sternum, rubbing his nose along the taut skin there. He could feel her heart beating wildly, like a scared rabbit beneath his lips. His own heart galloped in his chest – nervousness and joy, a collision pressing him onward. He tasted his way down her body and found her stomach quivering just above her waistband. Wrapping his arms around her hips, he embraced her, pressing his face into the soft skin above her womb.

She felt, rather than heard, his sigh. The weight of his grief, the burden of caring for so many, weighed down by the ache in his heart for her… She ran her fingers through his hair, cradling him against her.

He could smell her desire and feel the heat radiating from her as he rested against her hips. He could have lain there forever, drinking her in, feeling her beneath him. But he wanted so much more, and now, now he could have it.

He dragged his hands down her sides, eliciting a moan from deep in her throat, and caught her belt loops in his fingers. He deftly removed the last layer between them and took in the sight of her in the forgiving darkness. She had waited long enough though, and was desperate to have him closer. She reached up and snaked her arms around his shoulders, bringing him down with heated kiss.

It was his turn to moan into her mouth, as she brought one arm around him, feeling the dimple low on his back. She followed the curve of his body, reaching between his thighs and letting her fingers skim the sensitive flesh on the inside of his leg. He didn't want to risk ending this moment too soon, and laced his fingers with his own, bringing them between their chests.

Pulling away, he kissed her fingers and caressed her face. He copied her and followed her body down with his hands, until he had one strong thigh. With a gentle, but quick thrust, he brought her leg over his hip, lining himself up with her. She began trembling in anticipation, feeling his erection against her. Her body was primed, and she fought to still herself.

He kissed her as he pressed himself into her, stifling their moans. It took every ounce of self control he had to hold still. She wanted him so desperately to move inside her, but she knew he needed to take his time. He pressed his forehead against hers and breathed deep, calming breaths, as she rubbed circles into his back. But feeling her soft breasts against his chest, her warm leg over his, her quivering breath against his lips… it was too much. He tucked his head into her neck and thrust completely inside her.

Their rhythm was slow, but intense, and soon he could feel her belly begin to contract and she let out the most erotic sound he had ever heard -

* * *

Daryl woke with a start. In the dark of the prison, he could make out enough for his harsh reality to swim quickly into focus. He let out a deep sigh, pushing his hands through his hair in frustration. His dream was fading quickly, though the painful erection in his pants was going to take some time to subside.

Judith's cry echoed in the chamber of C Block, and Daryl could hear Beth's child-like voice trying to soother her. He listened with a hunter's ear, unable to fault an infant for waking him from his escape. With a creak of a cell door and the unmistakable footfalls of a small woman, he knew Beth was carrying the baby as she made her way to the kitchen. Knowing his guilt and frustration would keep him awake, he rose from his own bed and followed.

He tried not to startle Beth as he entered the kitchen, but she jumped at his soft, "Knock, knock," anyway.

"Oh God! Daryl." Beth gave a sleepy smile and looked down at the fussy infant in her arms. Her hair was a crazy array of strands around her face, and her eyes were barely open.

"Here, let me." Without waiting for a reply, Daryl gently took the baby into his arms.

"She's just hungry." Beth gestured to the bottle on table, premixed and forgotten in the kitchen earlier in the evening.

"I got it. You go on back to bed." Daryl reached out for the bottle.

Beth hesitated, but handed him the bottle anyway. "Are you sure? I can – "

"Go on and get some sleep. I can take a turn." Daryl looked down at Judith as he placed the nipple in her mouth.

"Thank you." Beth yawned and giggled, touching him affectionately on the shoulder before shuffling back into the cell block.

Judith's weight in Daryl's arms was like warm gift he had been given. Her tiny hand found his finger and grasped it. He couldn't help but smile down at her. "We got this, right Lil Asskicker?" he cooed.

He checked for the familiar weight of his pistol and noted the rifle by the door, before taking the baby out into the prison yard, where they could watch the stars set over the Georgia hills.

* * *

**A/N: Again, sorry. Don't hate me. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

_But plant your hope with good seeds_  
_ Don't cover yourself with thistle and weeds_  
_ Rain down, rain down on me_

-Mumford & Sons, Thistle and Weeds

* * *

Summers in Georgia had never been very kind, but a second summer without the luxury of air conditioning was brutal. Sweltering, but quiet. New people trickled in, bringing new skills, new supplies and ideas. By June, they numbered 27. Rick, Daryl and Glen were busy creating work schedules, Herschel was effectively turning the yard into a garden and the rest were busy turning the prison into a home. They had cleared cell blocks B and D, the infirmary, the kitchen, the laundry and the workshop. Mike, one of the newer members, with help from Tyreese, had rigged up several car batteries to provide for regular, but rationed, electricity.

With all the activity, Carol overlooked Daryl's quiet demeanor. He still looked for her and kept her whereabouts at the forefront of his mind. She still took on the chore of washing and mending his clothes, cleaning his kills, and making sure his voice was heard. He spent extra time with her when training everyone on new weapons, knowing she needed a sense of independence. And every time he left for a hunt, for a run, for watch duty, he simply said to her, "Stay safe."

Daryl and T-Dog, after nearly two years of surviving together, their friendship had grown. There had been time, during the quite nights on watch, during the hours in the car on the road, where they had nothing to do but get to know each other. While Daryl was a man of few words, T-Dog was intuitive enough to know when to be quiet, and when to engage him.

Sitting up in the watch tower as the sun set, the air was still stifling. Daryl and T-Dog sat with their legs dangling off the tower, Daryl just coming on watch to relieve T-Dog. Neither man had the energy to move, their shifts sticking to their skin.

"Man, I miss air conditioning." T-Dog pulled his t-shirt away from his skin and wiped his front lip with his collar.

"What I wouldn't give for a fan." Daryl agreed.

"Ice cold beer… Maybe a Daiquiri…"

"Jaegermeister right outta the freezer."

T-Dog grimaced. "You like that shit? Ugh."

"Hell yeah! Ice cold, goes down real smooth. Could get those little test tubes from the bar down the road from my job – Mac's." Daryl thought for a minute. "We shoulda hit up that liquor store in that town we were in last week…."

"I'd even just take a cold bottle of wine…" T-Dog shook his head and gazed out over the prison yard. "What else you miss?"

"Never thought I'd say I missed fast food."

"Yeah, the fastest food we got now is a deer!"

Both men chuckled as the door opened. Carol was carrying two plates of food, balancing them precariously. They both jumped up to help her.

"Aw, thanks Carol!" T-Dog took a plate and kissed Carol on the cheek. Behind him Daryl bristled. T-Dog turned away, tucking into his food in earnest. Daryl took his plate from Carol, meeting her flushed cheeks with a shy grin.

"Looks good. Thank you." Daryl began to turn away.

"What? No kiss?" Carol had her hands on her hips, clearly teasing. T-Dog chuckled with his mouth full.

Daryl froze. Carol giggled, her tease having the desired effect.

"Here." Carol handed him a bottle of water. As he took it, she leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. Daryl just stood there.

Carol left as quickly as she came, leaving Daryl standing there, holding his plate.

"Man, you gotta get over yourself. Seriously." T-Dog told his friend as Daryl finally sat down next to him on the edge of the tower.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Daryl had turned surly.

T-Dog shook his head. "C'mon, man. We all know how you feel about Carol. She's gonna be the last to know!"

Daryl ate in silence for a few minutes. While the thought of everyone knowing how felt, or thinking they knew how he felt, made him more than a little uncomfortable, he was also grateful for the wide berth they had given him.

"I ain't…." Daryl sighed heavily. T-Dog gave his friend his full attention. "I've never done anything like that." His voice was small, trailing off into whisper.

T-Dog was at a loss. If Daryl had said he was gay, T-dog wouldn't have been more surprised. "Shit, man, are you serious?"

Daryl's embarrassment was evident in his anger. "I was too busy surviving for any of that romance shit. I didn't have time to be worrying about anybody else."

"Okay, okay. I get it. But, damn. Never?" T-Dog was incredulous.

Daryl moved to get up.

"Whoa, Daryl, hold up." T-Dog put a hand on his shoulder. Daryl wanted to bolt, but the firm hand on his shoulder at least made him pause. "I ain't gonna give you any sage advice on women. But I know this is the end of the world, right here. I don't know what you're waiting for. Carol trusts you, more than anyone."

"I don't want to fuck things up."

"The only way you can fuck things up is if you don't say anything, man. That woman survived an abusive husband, losing her daughter and more walkers than I can count. You really think you can fuck up her world?"

Daryl mulled this over. The guilt of not having brought Sophia back to her mother alive and well was a ghost that hung over T-Dog's words.

"I don't want nobody to get hurt." Daryl finally said.

T-Dog rose, taking his plate with him.

"Dude, the only person you're gonna hurt is you, if you don't man up and do something about this."

T-Dog walked away, leaving Daryl to think in the growing darkness. With a shouldered rifle, water bottle and plate, he struggled for a second with the heavy door. As he walked through, Daryl stopped him.

"Hey, T!" Daryl called. T-Dog looked back from the top of the stairs. "You ever kiss her again, you're walker chow."

Daryl could hear T-Dog chuckle the entire trip down the tower stairs.

* * *

A run for canning supplies and tools was a necessity. There was no getting around needing to go on runs. They needed to go further out each time, having picked clean most of the small towns and subdivisions nearby. They made a calculated spiral from the prison outward. Today was about two hour's drive to check out what used to be a tourist area, with hotels, bed and breakfasts, a vacation spot. Daryl bristled when he learned that Andrea would be joining them, but he stayed silent on the subject.

Andrea, Tyreese, Michonne and Daryl had already scored several cases of jars and lids from a mom and pop shop that had been empty of walkers. Andrea was feeling good, Michonne was stoic as ever, but Tyreese was picking up on Daryl's bad mood. Something was off, and he couldn't put his finger on it. They walked down the sidewalk in front of a strip mall, looking into the shops to see if any might hold something useful. The fact that most of the town appeared empty and untouched was a concern for Daryl.

"I don't like this at all." Daryl glanced nervously around the main drag.

"What are you thinking?" Tyreese trusted Daryl and respected him.

"It's too quiet. We ain't seen a walker this entire trip."

"Not a walker, not a corpse, no one is here." Michonne agreed.

"Come to think of it… you're right. I haven't had to kill anything all day." Tyreese looked around nervously as well.

Ahead of them, Andrea tugged on the doors of a bar and restaurant. They were wooden, carved to look like saloon doors. The door opened easily, but was heavy.

"C'mon, it's about time we had some good luck!" Andrea pulled the door open wider. "Let's bring back some beer, see if there's any food in here – "

Dead hands reached through the door and pulled her inside. Andrea screamed, wailed in agony. Daryl and Michonne took off running toward the bar, Tyreese right behind. They could hear the tearing of flesh and the wet moans of walkers tearing Andrea apart. Her screams permeated the air around them, even through the heavy doors.

Daryl got to the doors first, putting his shoulder into them, as Michonne reached for a handle and tried to pull it open.

"No!" Tyreese grabbed Michonne by the shoulders.

"Andrea!" Michonne called. The dead began beating on the doors, pushing against Daryl.

"Help me, dammit!" Daryl yelled. Tyreese leaned his large body against the door.

The dead had heard them, smelled them, knew there was more food just outside the doors. Michonne stopped trying to pull on the door, understanding flashing on her face. Andrea was gone. Her screams had stopped too quickly. She saw the fear and pain in Daryl's eyes as the reality sunk in, and she put her own shoulder into the door. Her face crumpled as she started to cry. He barely heard her weeping Andrea's name.

"What do we do? There could be hundreds of walkers in there." Tyreese couldn't reach back to pull out his machete, any more than Daryl could notch an arrow in his bow.

Daryl met Michonne's eyes. "Get the car!" His body bounced against the wood of the door, and dead faces began to appear in the windows of the strip mall. "Michonne, get the Goddamned car!"

"Go on!" Tyreese's voice spurred her into action. She ran for the SUV parked half a block away. Tears clouded her vision, but she was able to start the car and floor it, bringing it up onto the sidewalk.

Daryl and Tyreese looked at eachother. Daryl started, "One,"

"Two," they said together, "Three!" They moved out of the way as Michonne drove the SUV up to the door, blocking it closed.

"Fuck!" Daryl pounded both his fists on the hood of the SUV, as the dead banged their ruined hands on the door.

Tyreese helped Michonne out of the truck, reaching over to pull up on the parking break before turning it off. He took the keys out of the ignition and throwing them down the street as hard as he could.

"How the hell are we gonna get back now? Fucking Andrea…"

They were all at a loss. They knew she had to have been ripped apart. They knew opening that door was a suicide mission. They knew there was nothing they could do about it, and they would have to tell the others they had lost one of their family.

"We're screwed, man." Tyreese leaned heavily on the SUV.

Michonne took a deep breath. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and said very calmly, "We're gonna be just fine. Look." She pointed to a large billboard at the end of the street.

Blue Moon Cycle. Ural Motors dealership. New, Used, Vintage. 5 miles.

"Son of a bitch." Tyreese would have smiled, had he not just lost a friend.

* * *

If not for the circumstances leading to their find, Daryl would have been ecstatic to be riding a brand new Harley soft tail with a sidecar full of canning jars. Tyreese rode just behind him in a 1972 Pannonia T6, it's sidecar filled to the brim with tools and several leather jackets. Michonne brought up the rear on a Champion trike with a trailer attached.

Pulling up to the prison, Daryl's heart skipped a beat when he saw Carol opening the outer gate. As was protocol, she only opened the first gate until she knew who was arriving. Her smile brought a grin to his lips, but his stomach turned. He would have to tell her about Andrea.

"Nice rides! Look like you traded in the truck." Carol ran a hand over the chrome fender and the teal detailing on the front tire of Daryl's bike.

It was evident something was wrong. All three were silent as they pulled through the second gate Carl had opened for them. Carol followed.

"Hop on." Daryl motioned for Carol to get behind him on the motorcycle. Carl waved them off, acknowledging Carol's glance back at him.

They road up to the entrance to C Block, Carol's fingers gripping Daryl's belt loops. Carol looked back several times as they crossed the yard, expecting to see the truck come around the corner any second. As they pulled up, their heavy hearts caused the air to go stale.

"Where's Andrea?" Carol took a box of jars as Daryl handed them to her. She bent down so that Daryl was forced to meet her eyes.

Daryl choked. He couldn't meet her eyes. Michonne spoke up. "Walkers got her." Michonne walked away, taking a load of supplies across the yard.

Carol nearly dropped the box of glass jars. Tyreese took them from her as the strength seemed to leave her body. Daryl caught her around the waist and pulled her into him. Carol sobbed in earnest. She didn't even need to ask how. She didn't want to know. They had been here too many times before. He didn't know how to feel, recognizing that the weight of her body against his and the heave of her shoulders were familiar.

"I'm sorry Carol…" Tyreese tried. "I… I'll go talk to Rick." He left Daryl and Carol, carrying several boxes of jars as he went.

* * *

Daryl's sullen mood and tendency to be quick to anger only got worse in the weeks following Andrea's death. Even Carol wasn't spared from his wrath.

He was nowhere to be found when it came time to dig Andrea a grave, even if they had nothing to put in it. Glen sought him out, finding him at in the workshop of the prison.

"Hey, man, you gonna come to the service for Andrea?"

Daryl didn't answer, keeping his back turned, eyes on the floor.

"You should really come say goodbye."

"So everybody can guilt trip me?" Daryl mumbled finally.

"What? What are you talking about? Tyreese told us what happened." Glen was genuinely surprised.

"I should've gone in and helped her. I should have –"

"Daryl, no one blames you for what happened. Andrea was a hothead who wasn't careful enough. You might have saved someone else from getting bit." Glen wanted to reach out and touch Daryl's shoulder, but he kept his hands in his pockets, knowing better.

"Just leave me alone." Daryl's voice was measured. Final.

Glen hesitated, "You're the one on a guilt trip here. I know you feel bad. I know she was a bitch to you. I know – "

"You don't know shit, Glen!" Daryl rounded on Glen, who shrank back. Daryl was scary when he was angry, even if he wouldn't actually hurt anyone. "I've wanted that bitch dead since we found her again. I've thought about feeding her to the damned walkers. And now she's gone and it's my own damn fault!"

"OK." Glen conceded. "I get it." Glen backed out of the workshop, leaving Daryl to his guilt.

* * *

A few days later, Michonne had asked Carol to clear Andrea's things from her cell. She couldn't find the strength to do it herself. Among the collection of threadbare clothing, Carol found Andrea's Smith & Wesson Ladysmith. It was unloaded, safety on. Carol picked it up, feeling the grip that had been comforting in Andrea's hands so many times. A lump formed in her throat, remembering T-Dog having carried this gun when they believed Andrea to be lost with the farm.

Pushing down the urge to cry, she tucked the Ladysmith into her waistband and bagged up the rest of the clothing, quickly leaving the cell, and the scent of Andrea that seemed to permeate everything.

She found Daryl in the holding cell inside the common area, where they stored the weapons. He was quietly, dutifully cleaning a rifle, reassembling it with skilled hands. He barely looked up as Carol entered.

"Found this in Andrea's things." She held the Ladysmith out to him, properly, barrel toward her.

Daryl paused for just a moment, before returning to his task. "Lot of good it did her. Stupid bitch didn't even bring it with her when we went out."

Disappointment radiated off Carol. She couldn't find words to say what she felt in that moment. She knew he was hurting. She knew he felt guilty.

"Why do you hate her so much?" Carol asked. She didn't expect an answer, and didn't receive one. She set the gun down on the bench beside Daryl. "Fine. Let me know when you're done wallowing in self pity."

Carol left the cage in disgust. She knew he felt guilty for Andrea, ultimately responsible for her death. What she couldn't see was his total fear of her. Andrea had made him admit his feelings for her, and he hated her for it. Now Andrea was gone, just like he had thought about, laying awake at night, and he was ashamed. He watched Carol walk away, arms crossed. Herschel was sitting in the common room and met Daryl's eyes, shaking his head. Daryl pretended not to notice.

* * *

Since bringing back tools and canning supplies, planting began in earnest. Herschel oversaw the operation, the able bodied members of their group who didn't have watch duty or laundry, working under his guidance. They began at sunrise and continued until the insects were too much to bear.

Herschel sat at a picnic table at the edge of their field, his bible beside him. Daryl joined him, carrying a large blue jug of potable water.

"Last night was the summer solstice." Daryl offered conversationally, sitting beside Herschel.

"Longest night of the year." Herschel regarded him, "Only a true outdoorsman would know that just by watching the sunset and the sunrise every morning."

"Yeah. My brother taught me how to find my way in the dark using the stars. I've been keeping track when I'm on watch."

"We could start a calendar. Mark off the days. We may even have reason to celebrate our accomplishments once in awhile. Birthdays… Christmas…"

"Nah." Daryl leaned back against the table, putting his weight on his elbows and looking out at his family planting in the field. "All those holidays and shit are done. We need to make our own."

Herschel looked at Daryl with new eyes. A man he had originally thought of as an uneducated, crass, and uncultured individual was proving to be a learned, deeply loyal and extremely intelligent man.

Herschel, despite his religious convictions, had to agree with Daryl. "Indeed. This is a new world we're building after all." Herschel watched the other man with interest. "Daryl, do you know the Parable of the Sower?"

Daryl, without missing a beat, began from memory: "A sower went out to sow his seed: and as he sowed, some fell by the way side; and it was trodden down, and the fowls of the air devoured it. And some fell upon a rock; and as soon as it was sprung up, it withered away, because it lacked moisture. And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprang up with it, and choked it. And other fell on good ground, and sprang up, and bore fruit a hundredfold."

The grin on Herschel's face grew as Daryl spoke. "You know your Bible, then?"

"It was all my mama ever talked about til she died. That and getting her smokes."

"Some say the parable is about how we choose to honor God. That we can throw away his word, and let it wither away, or we can use it and allow it to grow within us, to nourish us."

"What's everyone else say?"

Herschel studied Daryl as he spoke. "I believe it's about how we choose to use our words and our emotions to lift up others. We can either scatter them among the rocks, where they will grow into weeds and thistles, or we can plant them in good earth where they will grow."

Daryl looked up to meet Herschel's eyes finally. He was open to the words Herschel spoke, allowed the older man to counsel to him. "And son," Herschel continued, "We often say hurtful things when we hurt. We throw our words and our feelings around where they can grow resentment. And we often comfort those who need comforting only in bad times. We need to plant our seeds where they will grow into something we can use, something that is good for us. I see you offering comfort to your friends, and yet they cannot comfort you. Unless there is a crisis, you stay in the shadows. The moment something bad happens, you're there."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"No. No. It's not a bad thing, but it's not the only thing. You can't build something out of sorrow and loss. You can't eat what grows from the thorns."

Daryl bit his lip and looked out into the field, deep in thought. Herschel could nearly hear the gears turning in Daryl's mind. He followed his gaze out into the field, where Carol was working on hands and knees to clear rocks where they had planted corn. Her skin shimmered with sweat, and her hair clung to her, framing her face in wet curls.

"You can build a life, Daryl, but where and how you plant your seeds and how you approach those you love will determine how fruitful your work will be."

Daryl simply nodded and continued watching Carol work.

From out in the field, she felt his eyes on her. Looking up, she saw Daryl watching her. His hands were covered in grease, his shirt sticking to him along the seam of his chest. She gave a small grin, earning a thin smile in return.

* * *

That night, the sky opened up, setting the sky ablaze with lightning, fueled by the heat of the day. The strikes lit up the prison like a strobe, and cracks of thunder rang off the bars in deafening peels. No one was really sleeping; there were no snores, no heavy breathing or dream whimpers. Flashlights and candles pierced the darkness, and Daryl could see a sliver of light coming from Carol's cell.

"Hey." Daryl rapped on the concrete outside the cell.

"Hey." Carol laid her book down on her lap. "What's up?"

"Nothin. I just…" Daryl took a deep breath and fully entered the cell. "I wanted to apologize."

Carol hadn't been expecting an apology, and grinned. "Apology? Daryl, have you been drinking?" She teased.

Daryl frowned. The urge to get angry and nip at Carol rose in his chest. But instead, he knelt next to her and reached into his waistband. "I think you should keep this. She'd want you to have it." He put Andrea's gun in Carol's hands.

Carol turned the gun over in her hands. "Andrea's. She thought it would keep her safe." She said sadly.

"Now it can keep you safe." Daryl met Carol's sad eyes, his hand still in her lap. Carol took it, and pressed his knuckles against her lips. Daryl took in a sharp hiss of breath as he felt her lips against his skin.

"Thank you, Daryl." Carol released his hand.

Daryl sat back on his heels. He caught his breath, her touch and her kiss having sent his mind spinning. He focused himself and cleared his throat. "There's something else. Something I need your help with."

Carol's brow creased in confusion and interest. "My help? With what?"

Daryl regarded his boots, silently praying she wouldn't laugh at him. "I found a sewing machine. In the workroom. I fixed it, I think. I saw you emptying out Andrea's cell and I thought… Well, I thought we could use it to make something for Michonne."

Carol clapped both her hands over her mouth. "Oh my God! Daryl!" She sat up on the edge of her bunk, facing him. He couldn't read her face, but as she moved her hands away, he found her smile. Thin tears had turned to yellow jewels on her eyelids in the candlelight. "That is so sweet!"

Daryl gave her a genuine smile. Relief flooded into him. He moved to stand as Carol moved to place a kiss on his cheek. Instead, their lips met.

Eyes open, their chaste kiss lasted longer than a few of their pounding hearts. They both pulled away, Daryl on his knees in front of Carol, who sat on the edge of her bed. Carol bit her lip and Daryl… Despite the flutter in his stomach, he couldn't take his eyes off Carol's lips. He could smell her, and the taste of her was on him. Sweat and the faint smell of soap mixed with the scent of his leather jacket and the candle burning down next to them – it was sensory overload.

He reacted with instinct. He covered her hands with both of his and claimed her lips with his own. He hadn't even considered she might not reciprocate, and as she leaned into him, a small moan escaping the depths of her throat, he felt like he had come home. He had only kissed one other woman, in one of Merle's attempts to "make him a man". For Daryl, this was his first kiss. He reveled in the taste of her, the softness of her, the feel of her lips against his own. He brought a hand up to her neck, finding the shape of her ear fit perfectly above his palm.

She could have let him kiss her forever, his hand on hers in her lap, the other holding her gently to him. He didn't lean her back onto the bed, or try to invade her mouth with his tongue. She could feel his complete awe with the act of kissing her. She could feel him trembling slightly, and so she opened up to him, to reassure him that she was present, that she was there with him in his reverie.

Carol licked at his bottom lip, attempting to take their kiss deeper. Daryl pulled away abruptly, gasping for air. He squeezed his eyes shut and steadied himself with both hands on her shoulders, bringing their foreheads together.

"I can't…. I can't do this yet." He stilled himself, trying to gain his composure. This was not going how he had planned. He was at war with his emotions. His body trembled, in response to her kiss, her scent, her taste, and he wanted nothing more than to press himself into her. But he wanted more than her body, and it would take more than one kiss to tear down all the walls he had built around himself in order to let her in.

Carol was confused. Was this an unfortunate misunderstanding? Did he actually want what she thought he wanted? As he kissed her, she was sure he wanted her entirely, right then. But he had been the one to pull away. She had never had any kind of choice when it came to sex, and here she was ready to surrender herself, simply because she thought it was what he wanted of her. Did she want it from him? They were both hurting. Was this a way to ease this new pain, or was there something more he wanted – no, needed –from her? His face was pinched as if he was in pain.

His words were measured and concrete as he pulled away from her. "Tomorrow. I'll show you… tomorrow."

He stood to leave and the loss of his presence was overwhelming. She stood and grabbed his hand. "Please. Stay."

He looked into her eyes, her face creased with shadows. Oh, how he wanted to stay. But instead, he raised their hands to his lips, kissed her knuckles, and walked out of the cell.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for sticking with me. This chapter was hard to write, and I'm not entirely happy with it. Hope to get the next chapter up in the next week or so - we shall see. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I apologize for making you all wait for an update. Life got in the way of writing. I think you can guess where this chapter is going. :D Appreciate reviews - the more I get the more I'm excited to write!**

* * *

Carol hardly slept that night. There was an unfamiliar ache in her chest that she was afraid to name. Her mind was reeling. He had kissed her. She had let him. She wanted to do it again. She wanted to feel his weight against her, to taste him again, to have his hands her. And from the way he had looked into her eyes, from the way he kissed her, he felt the same. Carol couldn't wrap her mind around it. She had been her mother's burden, then her husband's, and then a liability to the group. But Daryl… he wanted her. He sought out her company, he turned to her when he was unsure of himself, and above all else, he respected her. Would he feel the same in the morning? She tried to clear her mind and sleep, but the vision of him trembling before her found its way to the inside of her eyelids.

* * *

Daryl left Carol's cell, silently chastising himself for leaving. She had wanted him to stay, asked him outright to spend the night with her. But he didn't even know where to begin with that. He was 37 years old and had never so much touched a woman, much less make love to one. It seemed so simple, like trying pot or skydiving. But he could no more pack a parachute than he could go much further with Carol. He didn't even know where to begin. And she would know. She would come to find out how inexperienced he was in the most embarrassing manner. Laying on top of his blankets, Daryl's body buzzed with arousal and with fear. He could tell her that was new to this, or he could fumble his way through. Either way, he faced rejection. If she touched him, if she let him put his hands on her, he would likely combust on the spot. Thinking of her warm mouth and deft fingers and imagining all the things she could do to him, and with him… He resolved himself to face possible rejection rather than never the opportunity to taste her ever again.

It didn't take much, remembering her scent and mentally paging through the desires he had conjured from those few fleeting moments, to bring himself to a desperate and painful orgasm, laying alone in the dark.

* * *

Her hands guided the worn fabric through the machine, nudging it in to line, so the seams would be straight. She had a small smile on her lips. She appeared happy. Daryl looked up from his task of cutting squares from Andrea's clothing, using the template Carol had made from a piece of cardboard. The rhythmic clack of the old machine and the strips of fabric already sewn together, blowing in the breeze made a song of their work. He set the last of the squares on top of her pile and watched Carol sew, arms folded tightly around himself. He watched the delicate muscles of her shoulders and back work, the sun glinting off her hair.

They worked quietly and the piecing went quickly. By mid afternoon they had a small quilt top done. After lunch, they slipped away together again, taking a new wool blanket with them to use as a back for their project.

"Sit down." Carol instructed as she poked out the last corner. She had sewn the wool blanket and pieced top together inside out.

"You want me to –" Daryl asked nervously.

"It was your idea, now you're going to do some sewing."

Without waiting for him to protest, Carol knelt next to Daryl, placing the blanket under the sewing machine. "You line the presser foot, this little flat piece here, with the stitches." She put the presser foot down. "And it holds it tight as you guide it through." She took his hands and placed them on the fabric, keeping her own hands on his. "Then you gently press down on the foot lever, yep, right there…" Daryl did as he was told and the machine began to pull the fabric through, making even, tiny stitches.

They looked at each other and smiled. "See, that's all there is to it. Just stop a little before you come to the seam…" Daryl eased his foot off the pedal and the machine stopped. "Turn this knob and make sure the needle is down in the fabric. Now, lift up the foot. Yep, that lever there." Daryl lifted the presser foot with his right hand, letting Carol keep her fingers on top of his left hand. "Now, turn the fabric so you can make a ninety degree turn."

She guided him through the steps to complete one square of the quilt. She watched his face, open and trusting, as she gave instructions and he followed them. She didn't miss how his eyes went to her mouth every time their eyes met, or how his thumb would absently stroke her hand when she would stop to explain something. They worked shoulder to shoulder, as she taught him how to sew, the world outside the workshop forgotten. Her proximity was overwhelming. Daryl could barely breathe as she leaned over him, nearly sitting in his lap. He wanted to pull her down onto his lap and kiss her again, remembering the taste of her skin from the night before. He sighed in nervous relief when she stepped away, encouraging him to do the next square on his own.

Carol leaned against the table, taking up a large, blunt needle and some yarn to begin tying the centers of the quilt squares.

"Daryl? Can I ask you something?"

"I suppose." His head was down, concentrating on the sewing machine.

"How come you wear so many layers of clothing? An undershirt, a flannel shirt, a jacket, sometimes an extra shirt, or a pair of cargo pants under your jeans…"

Daryl stopped sewing and sat back in the chair. He looked into Carol's eyes, his gaze making her squirm.

"You really want to know?" Carol nodded her head, almost imperceptibly.

"When the Jews were being rounded up and put into concentration camps, some of the mothers had their sons and daughters put on all their best clothes. Some of them knew their belongings were being thrown away, and figured the easiest way to keep what little they had was to wear all of it."

Carol's shoulder's drooped. She never expected such an answer.

"When I had to read The Diary of Anne Frank in school, that really stuck with me. Whenever I wasn't sure when I'd be home, I'd wear a change of clothes. Couldn't get stolen or lost…"

Carol reached out and touched his cheek. "I don't know whether that's sad or sweet." They both laughed.

The moment was cut short when the door to the workshop screeched open and Glenn entered. It was Daryl's turn for watch.

* * *

Mike, the former electrician, got the security cameras working. Explosives that could be detonated from within the prison were set outside the fence. Three safe houses were set up at locations in neighboring towns. Each person was equipped with a bag that contained food, clothing, a weapon, a map, the means to purify water and several bottle rockets or flares with which to signal other members of the group. Carol was working with him on putting together the backpacks and emergency gear later that day, when Michonne appeared wrapped in the hastily made quilt.

"He finished it!" Carol stood up from where she was kneeling.

Michonne reached out and hugged her friend. "Yes. And thank you." Carol hugged Michonne back, fighting back tears. "You have a good man there, Carol. You really do." Michonne said as she pulled away.

Carol was caught off guard. "I have a man?" Michonne simply chuckled and left the room, as quickly as she had come in. Carol turned to Mike, who was marking items off his clipboard, pretending not to listen. He glanced up and shrugged. Carol returned to her work, a small smile playing on her lips.

* * *

As was the norm, Daryl was the last one in line for dinner. As usual, he gave Carol a warm smile and thanked her for cooking. She smiled back, thinking she wished he had cleaned up after watch. He sat down at the same table, leaving a space for Carol like he always did. She sat down in her spot, and he scrapped a few forkfuls of food onto her plate from his own.

"Daryl, now – "

"Stop it." Daryl cut off Carol's protest through a mouthful of food. "There's plenty. You need to eat, woman." His tone and pointed look closed the conversation. Carol couldn't deny she was hungry, but the food on her plate wasn't what she craved. Her breath caught as Daryl patted her thigh, before going back to his plate, tearing his eyes away from her lips.

Across the table, Maggie and Glenn watched the exchange with tense amusement. As Carol returned to her food, the younger couple shared a look.

Glenn cleared his throat. "Um, Daryl, I was wondering…" Glenn was visibly nervous.

"Hmm?" Daryl replied. Glen and Beth glanced nervously at one another again. "Spit it out, Korea."

Maggie spoke up. "We were wondering if you knew anything about the bigger cells outside B Block."

"Bigger cells?" Carol asked, interested.

"Yeah. I was wondering if you checked them out." Glenn's voice was low.

"Nope." Daryl took a swig from his canteen. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know, the little trailers? The ones they have for… you know…" Glenn looked around the mess hall, and finished with a whisper, "conjugal visits?"

Daryl choked on the bite of food he had just taken, causing a confused Carol to forget the conversation and focus on Daryl, coughing and red-faced, sitting next to her.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Apologies, dear readers, for the wait for this chapter. Life gets in the way sometimes, and I was having a little writers block. I hope the next chapter won't take as long. The song Beth sings is an Indigo Girls song. Also, I've been asked why I don't write accents. They are unnecessary. We all know how these characters speak, and I think it dumbs down the character, frankly. Regional colloquialisms are far more important, in my opinion. :) Enjoy!**

* * *

B Block was like a foreign land. Cut off from the rest of the prison, it was obvious that it was a minimum security section. The cells allowed for more furniture, tables and chairs that could be moved freely, recreation areas that allowed for greater freedom, and less safety. They had secured the inside of the prison block, but had left it empty, taking from it what they needed.

Glenn tagged along behind Daryl in full riot gear, dragging a bolt cutter behind him. Daryl surveyed the block from behind his crossbow, ever-vigilant for danger. They had met a total of three undead as they made their way toward the B Block courtyard. Daryl didn't like it. Glenn was simply glad he wasn't already covered in blood and guts.

Stepping out into the yard of B Block, they squinted against the Georgia sun. They could see some of their folk looking their way from C Block. Glenn waved, earning a wave back from someone he couldn't make out. Daryl rolled his eyes and quickly made his way to the nearest of the three small trailers lined up against the prison.

B-Block's yard had its own entrance, and a fourth small building that appeared to be an office, very much like a construction trailer. The smaller buildings were about half the size and were each surrounded by their own fence. Bars ran along the entire structure at the level of the small windows placed in each wall. Small patches of grass were placed on either side of the three steps leading up to the door.

Glenn made quick work of the lock on the fence with the bolt cutter. Cautiously, they opened the heavy door of the structure, and were greeted with stale, dusty air.

The trailer was made up like a tiny hotel room. A small bathroom walled off in one corner, a table with two chairs on one end and a double bed at the other. Along one wall ran a counter top, under which had several locked cabinets. After checking the bathroom and under the bed, Daryl used his knife to coax open the cabinets. They were full of dusty linens, toilet paper, and condoms.

Glenn grinned unabashedly and chuckled, "Jackpot!" The glare he received from Daryl erased the smile from his lips.

"No lock on the door… could get a hasp screwed on there." Daryl thought aloud.

"Let's go clear the other two." Glenn started out the door of the trailer.

Daryl followed in earnest. "Don't go picking paint colors. We need to talk to Rick about this."

Glenn followed Daryl to the second of the trailers, which was just as empty as the first. The third held two long-dead prisoners who appeared to have opted out. The guard house, however, was a different story. Approaching the structure, they smelled the rotten flesh of animated corpses. The sweet, pungent smell radiated off the building in the Southern heat.

"Must have died in there…" Daryl looked back at Glenn, who was steeling himself for the fight to come. As they approached, faces appeared in the dusty windows, and the growls and moans began. Daryl stepped up onto a cinder block and peered into the window to find out just what they were facing.

Suddenly, a pale, gaunt face rammed against the window, stopped by the bullet-proof glass. The Walker was mostly bald, with wide blue eyes and a prominent jaw. Daryl fell off the cinder block in surprise.

"Careful!" Glenn moved to help Daryl off the ground, but Daryl pushed him away as he jumped up.

Without waiting for Glenn to get his bearings, Daryl, panting, dropped his crossbow, drew his gun and shot the lock off the door.

The only light in the trailer came from the grime-coated windows on either side of the door. Temporarily blinded by the sudden burst of sunshine from the doorway, the walkers were slow to react. Daryl took out a smaller man dressed in a guard uniform with a clean shot to the head. The larger man, dressed in prison blues, rushed Daryl and forced him back toward the door, his gun hanging limply from his hand. Glenn ran to help his friend, but Daryl stumbled and fell backward was he came back through the doorway. He could not react, and time seemed to slow down.

"Daryl!" Glenn's shout caused the walker to look up. Glenn stopped in his tracks, the reason for Daryl's inaction clear. The walker looked like Merle. The walker's ruined chest, shredded uniform and dead eyes made both men pause in terror and confusion.

Daryl felt as if he was in a recurring nightmare. Once again, his dead brother was reaching for him, hungry for him. He lay on the hard scrabble of the burned grass, unable to act. His chest was heaving with fear, disbelief and unspoken grief.

Glenn's mind caught up to the danger and he brought the bolt cutter down at an angle on the walker reaching for Daryl. The corpse fell and Glenn brought the bolt cutter down on its head, splitting it open like a wet bag of garbage. Glenn let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as the body stopped moving. He ran for the door of the trailer and looked inside, ready to defend himself. Seeing it empty, he turned to Daryl.

Before Glenn could tell Daryl the building was clear, his words caught in his throat. Daryl had crawled over to the dead prisoner, hand reaching for its ruined head. Glenn reached out , afraid to touch the trembling man in front of him. "Daryl… It's not Merle." Daryl didn't respond. Glenn knelt between the walker and his friend. "It's not your brother, man."

T-Dog cast a shadow over the courtyard as he came through the cell block door. He saw the other men on the ground and began running to them.

"What the hell's going on? We heard gunshots!" He stopped abruptly, seeing Glenn with a tentative, but reassuring hand on Daryl's shoulder. Daryl was visibly shaking. T-Dog's brow furrowed in confusion; Glenn met his eyes and shook his head: Don't ask.

Daryl took several deep, cleansing breaths. "I know. " He said, "I know it's not him." As he stood, he couldn't take his eyes off the corpse. Glenn and T-Dog eyed exchanged looks and eyed Daryl. They wanted to comfort him, but they both knew, all too well, what Dixon temper was like.

"Um, let's, ah, update Rick and, and, I'll ask Carol to help clean out the trailers." Daryl nodded, as if to confirm he was alright, picked up his discarded crossbow and quickly left the cell block, leaving T-Dog and Glenn standing in the dust of the unkempt yard.

* * *

He found Carol on watch on that perfect summer day. Why she was crying, he couldn't fathom. No one had died in at least a week, he had brought in a wild boar and they were eating well lately. As she heard the door close, she tried to wipe away tears before he could see them. But he was so tuned to her, he knew.

She gave him a wry smile as he approached her. She knew he would be uncomfortable seeing her cry.

"What's going on?" He left room for her to tell him why she was crying, or just give report for her shift. He leaned against the railing, setting his crossbow beside him, as she looked out over the prison yard, bare arms hugging herself tightly.

"You really want to know?"

Pushing down the urge to press his face into her belly and weep, Daryl reached out and lightly grazed the back of his hand against the back of her upper arm. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how, especially with his encounter fresh in his mind. Rubbing her arm, he replied, "If you want to tell me."

Carol was silent for a moment. New tears grew in her eyes. With a deep sigh, she spoke. "I think today would have been Sophia's birthday." Daryl stepped away and gripped the bars on the watch tower, the heaviness in his heart pulling down on him. "You said about two weeks ago it was the solstice. Her birthday was just after." Carol laughed sarcastically. "We packed up and left home just before her twelfth birthday. She'd be fourteen years old…." Carol's voice trailed off. "I heard gunshots. Everything OK in B Block?" Her attempt to change the subject was thin.

Daryl looked out over the prison yard. The leaves of the plants in the vegetable garden swayed in the breeze. A handful of chickens clucked drowsily in the makeshift coop. Wispy, barely-there clouds hung in the sky as if they were napping. How this broken, dying world could still look so picture perfect… Daryl couldn't understand. Just like seeing his brother die again, it seemed like a cruel joke. He couldn't explain to Carol what had just happened. Not when he found her mourning her child. He knew she would set aside her grief and nurse his wounds instead.

"It's OK, Daryl." Carol put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It's not OK." Daryl bit out. "Sophia is gone and it's my fault… I don't know what to do about that. What do I say?" He looked up into the perfect summer sky.

Carol leaned her temple against the hand on his shoulder. "It's no one's fault, Daryl. It's this world. I asked God not to punish me by hurting her and, well, I think we're all out of favors from God."

Daryl let out a wry chuckle. "The last time I asked Him for anything, it was to find your little girl. I didn't even ask Him to look out for my brother…" He kicked the vertical bar of the guard tower railing half-heartedly. His face flushed with shame and the effort of keeping his emotions balled up in the pit of his stomach. He let his hair fall over his eyes in an attempt to further hide himself.

Carol stepped behind him and wrapped her arms around him. He still held on to the railing, as if he was holding up the watch tower. He felt her crying against him, tears wetting the back of his shirt. He could only stand there and will himself to keep it together. They stood there for several minutes, Daryl allowing Carol to cry, just being a presence for her. She was unaware that she was the rock holding him to earth, keeping him from floating away, keeping him from letting his own grief pull him under. Finally, she began to pull away, but his hand came up and stilled her. Taking her hands in his, he pulled her tighter against himself and held her there. Her entire body was pressed against his back, her cheek resting between his shoulder blades. His hands were rough against her soft skin, and he clasped his hands around hers, like holding a fragile animal between his fingers. Carol relaxed into the muscular plane of Daryl's back, feeling his baited breath beneath her cheek.

It was the most they had asked of each other. Without words, they had asked for comfort, and received it. It was new, for both of them. Neither knew how much they needed the presence of another person in their grief, and it surprised them both. Carol's body pressed against his was a counterweight to Daryl's guilt. She clung to him, as if her tears would drown her if she let go.

They both jumped as the tower walkie-talkie squawked. "Carol? Is Daryl up there with you?"

Daryl grabbed the radio off the outside ledge of the window. "I'm on my way." He met Carol's eyes as she finished wiping away her tears.

"Going to finish cleaning out the trailers in B Block." Daryl explained.

"Rick agreed?"

Daryl shrugged "I told him I needed some space. It's this or being outside the prison." Daryl turned to leave. "Come over when you're done with watch? Could use your help getting everything cleaned up. "

Carol simply smiled and nodded.

* * *

Most of the people at the prison preferred the safety of C Block and wouldn't even consider the suggestion of moving into other areas. Rick didn't even flinch when Daryl said he was taking one of the trailers for his own. Sheriff Grimes knew Daryl needed his space, and frankly, it meant more room in C Block. It also meant eyes on more of the area around the prison, as well. Herschel was not thrilled with Maggie and Glenn taking one of the other trailers, but having Michonne in the larger guard office helped ease his mind at least a little. They would all be close enough eat together and share chores, but far enough away that they had privacy and some semblance of a home.

Daryl had let the women clean and decorate (watercolor handprints courtesy of Judith, in a frame scavenged from the warden's office) hooked up a generator for hot water and began cutting a hole and gathering cinder blocks to put in a wood stove.

That first night, between clean sheets, on a real bed, after a hot shower, Daryl Dixon couldn't sleep. Every time he would doze off, he was opening the trailer door and his brother was falling across the threshold. Merle was followed by Sophia and Andrea and Lori and Dale… The minute the stars on the horizon began to fade, he dressed, grabbed his crossbow and left the trailer.

Coming around to the main yard of C Block, Daryl heard a soft whistle, one he had taught T-Dog long ago – a hunter's whistle. T-Dog waved from the tower, but Daryl didn't even look back.

He set his crossbow down and heaved the walker from the burn pile, dragging it across the yard to the growing cemetery on the other side. Halfway, he stopped to take off his leather jacket, already sweating in the predawn heat. T-Dog watched with concern from the tower, occasionally peeking through the scope of his rifle. Rick would be there at Dawn to take over watch, and he would let Daryl alone until then.

With an earnest request for redemption in his heart, Daryl began digging a grave for Merle. Rationally, he knew the walker laid out beside the hole was not his brother. But he had not brought Merle's body back and had no place to mourn him. If he couldn't bury Merle, he could at least make him a grave and give the man's memory a place to rest. In that grave, he could leave his grief, to revisit, but not carry.

By dawn, Daryl was nearly halfway to a suitable grave. Rick came up to the tower to relieve T-Dog, who only had to gesture at Daryl's lonely figure in the yard. They regarded Daryl for a moment before T-Dog voices what they were both thinking.

"That's our brother down there. He'd do it for us."

Without needing an explanation, Rick and T-Dog gathered Glenn and took up shovels, digging beside Daryl in earnest.

* * *

When the men didn't come to breakfast, Maggie and Carol loaded up some of their meager breakfast and went outside to find them. Carol set the bowls of oatmeal on the picnic table, folding her arms across her chest. Maggie shielded her eyes from the rising sun, both women taking in the sight of the men finishing the grave.

"Think we should help them?" Worry creased Carol's brow.

Maggie responded, "I think we need to get the others."

* * *

Late in the morning, after the women had washed and shrouded the body as best they could, the prison family held a service for Merle.

"When Andrea… died," Rick began, "I told her that all of our people made it out OK." Risk shifted uncomfortably. "We didn't know then the sacrifice Merle had made for us. He let Michonne go – he made a decision I was slow in making – and he knew he wasn't coming back. Now, we had our differences, and didn't see eye to eye, well, ever, but Merle loved his family, and that's something I think we can all relate to, especially these days."

The group stood in silence, letting Rick's words sink in. Daryl's eyes remained fixed on the grave, where dark soil had begun to crumble down onto the fallen walker. Carol stood beside him, feeling each heavy breath as it left his body.

Glenn cleared his throat. "Merle was smart… and inventive…."

"He was loyal." Michonne said quietly.

And so it went, each person who knew Merle spoke. Even with his brash, bigoted and ragged heart, Merle Dixon was someone to be remembered.

One of the Woodbury people held Glenn's guitar and began to play as Beth took a couple of steps closer to the grave, and began to sing.

"Fare thee well my bright star  
I watched your taillights blaze into nothingness  
But you were long gone before I ever got to you  
Before you blazed past this address

And now I think of having loved and having lost  
You never know what it's like to never love  
Who can say what's better and my heart's become the cost?  
A mere token of a brighter jewel sent from above

Fare thee well my bright star  
The vanity of youth the color of your eyes  
And maybe if I'd fanned the blazing fire of your day-to-day  
Or if I'd been older I'd been wise

But too thick the heat of those long summer evenings  
For a cool evening I began to yearn  
But you could only feed upon the things which feed a fire  
Waiting to see if I would burn

Fare thee well my bright star  
It was a brief brilliant miracle dive  
That which I looked up to and I clung to for dear life  
Had to burn itself up just to make itself alive

And I caught you then in your moment of glory  
Your last dramatic scene against a night sky stage  
With a memory so clear that it's as if you're still before me  
My once in a lifetime star of an age

So fare thee well my bright star  
Last night the tongues of fire circled me around  
And this strange season of pain will come to pass  
When the healing hands of autumn cool me down"

As the last strains of the song died on Beth's lips, Daryl slipped his hand inside Carol's. She caught her breath when his skin touched hers and she had to add her other hand, Daryl was trembling so badly.

"A few weeks ago, Rick said something that made me think. He said surviving doesn't mean not getting killed." He swallowed thickly, nervously. "I want to start living, not just surviving."

Carol squeezed his hand between hers. Their linked hands were not unnoticed by the rest of the group.

* * *

**Please read and review! I believe Season 3 will be on Netflix 9/29 - can't wait to rewatch before Season 4 starts!**


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